


Impressions

by whatdoyouthinkmyjobis



Series: Hunters on the Hellmouth [13]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Apologies, Assault, Attempted Sexual Assault, Bonding, Canon-Typical Violence, Crossover, Crossover Pairings, Demons, Dreams and Nightmares, Episode: s07e02 Beneath You, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Friendship, Guilt, Jealous Spike, Jealousy, Past Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Past Sexual Assault, Public Sex, Sex, Suicide Attempt, Vampires, Vengeance Demon(s), episode rewrite
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-08
Updated: 2016-09-08
Packaged: 2018-08-13 13:10:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7977889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whatdoyouthinkmyjobis/pseuds/whatdoyouthinkmyjobis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As the Winchester's promised stint in Sunnydale draws to a close, Dean considers some big changes. Meanwhile, Buffy is shocked to learn what Spike has done.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Impressions

**Author's Note:**

> This chapter was inspired by the events of BTVS 7.02 Beneath You. TW: Assault. Discussion of Spike's attempted rape of Buffy. Attempted suicide.

The midday sun beat down on Dean’s back as he tightened the Impala’s oil cap. Wiping sweat off his brow, he thought about taking off his shirt but hesitated. This wasn’t really a tattooed grease-monkey sort of neighborhood. A couple women in short shorts and sports bras jogged by, ponytails swinging in sync. Dean offered a friendly wave, and they ignored him. No matter. Today was for sprucing up Baby, not being neighborly.

He peeled off his t-shirt anyway and moved on to rotating the tires, humming to himself as he worked. _You’ve been learnin’, baby, I’ve been yearnin’ / All them good times, baby, baby, I’ve been yearnin’._

“Babe, it’s hot out here. Can’t you do that later when it’s cooler?” Buffy, her brows furrowed with concern, asked from the porch. 

Dean looked at the tires laying in the driveway. “Not if we want to go anywhere.” 

She ducked back into the house, appearing several minutes later with a cold beer. “I brought help!” she said with a smile as she handed Dean the bottle. Her golden hair glowed in the sunlight. He leaned in to kiss her, but she put her hands up. “Ack! You’re all greasy and sweaty!”

A tow-headed little girl with a plastic wrench in hand ran out the front door. “I help, too!”

Dean swooped her in the air and buried his sweaty face in her neck.

“Tickles, Daddy!”

He put her down. “You said you were here to help. Daddy needs tickle time.”

“Nooooo,” she insisted. To emphasize her helpfulness, she pushed a tire closer to the car.

“Huh, I didn’t think she’d be that strong yet,” said Buffy.

“Little Slayer,” he grinned as he took a sip of his beer.

* * *

Despite claiming to be busy, Xander picked Buffy up Wednesday for her first day of work. In a small voice, Xander confessed to the air, “That was the first time I’ve spoken to Anya since…”

For Dawn’s sake, they went no further into discussing their ugly scene the day before.

But the fight weighed on Xander’s mind. He swung by Buffy’s house unannounced that evening. The omnipresent Impala already parked in the driveway.

_Please, don’t be having sex. Please, don’t be having sex._ The awkwardness of that encounter hadn’t helped him think clearly.

Fully clothed and not flushed, Buffy answered the door.

“Hey, Buff, could we talk?”

“Okay,” she said. Looking back inside, she shouted, “Be right back, Sam.”

“Sam’s here?”

“Yeah, I have an essay due tomorrow. He’s proofreading it for me.”

“I just usually think of Dean when I see the car.”

“He’s here too. He and Dawn are making dinner before I go on patrol.”

“Oh, that’s just spiffy,” Xander said with a forced smile. He jammed his hands in his pockets and stared at an ant pulling a dead wasp across the porch.

“Are you conducting a poll on how many of my friends are jerks, or are you here to give a demonstration?”

He nodded. “Call me Jerkicus Maximus. We’ve been arguing for days and it’s my fault and I hate it.”

She crossed her arms, waiting for more.

“It’s just that I’m miss the Scoobies. I knew my role there.”

“Your role?” she repeated.

“I’ve got these two best friends. One is a major badass witch and the other is a superhero who gives nightmares nightmares. I’m sort of the stagehand. You two are always so busy being more than other people could hope to be, I hang in the background and keep things tidy. I stock the fridge. I entertain Dawn when danger’s afoot. I mow the lawn so it’s not fined–”

“They fine lawns?” 

“Yeah, Buffy, they do.” The ant, he noticed, was trying to push the wasp into a small crack. “I’m Real World Guy. Now, there’s someone making you dinner, driving you around and sneaking Dawn candy. That’s totally my gig! On top of that, Dean gets to go do hero things hold court with Queen B.”

She raised an eyebrow. “You sneak Dawn candy?”    

“Since forever.”

“You’re better at it than Dean.”

“Or am I more scared of you?” Xander smirked. “Dean and Sam are great guys, but they sort of make me feel like last years’ not-so-sexy model.”

The ant started pulling the wasp apart to squeeze it in the opening.

“Xander, you’re not my stagehand; you’re my friend. I always need friends. Sometimes it’s new friends, but I’ll always have a space for old friends.

“You’re right about being last year’s model though. The Scoobies have disbanded. Tara’s dead. Giles is gone. Anya’s back on the vengeance juice. You can’t fit in your old role, and neither can I. Last night, I went through my wardrobe. Do you know how many crop tops and miniskirts I have?”

“Yes! I mean, no, no idea. Do tell.”

“Let’s just say my wardrobe leans more toward fun college girl than school counselor. As much as I want to stay fun college girl, I have to buy more blouses. My future holds literal grown-up pants. I pay enormous bills, go to work on time, and make sure my sister is doing her homework. I need to be my own tiny background adult.

“As for Dean and Sam,” she looked up at the porch ceiling, trying to find words, “them being here, helping me with patrols has given me a moment to breathe. I feel less like I’m drowning, and more like I’m swimming with the current. That’s all it was supposed to be – help with patrols. Everything else just sort of…happened. They are really _good_ guys. Anyway, they’re leaving next Friday, so I’ll swim a little harder.”

“How are you handling their exit?”

She tugged her earlobe as she chose her words. “I plan to spend the entire night crying into a bucket of ice cream. Then I’ll wash my face, get some sleep, and hug Will at the airport in the morning.” 

“You really like Dean, don’t you? I mean beyond ‘Tee-hee, he’s so cute.’”

She sighed as she headed back into the house. “Be my friend, but stay out of my bedroom, okay?”

 

* * *

Buffy took off her jacket and folded it over her arms. Her silky dance-all-night top would be enough for the late summer night as she and Xander walked to The Bronze for some much needed bonding time while the Winchesters handled the night’s patrol.

“I’m glad you called,” he said contritely.

She was glad to have time with him to heal what worry and jealousy had broken. “Please note Dawn bailed on me on the rare night off.”

“Noted. Hanging with the traumatized basement kids?”

“Kinda. We’ll see if the befriending sticks.”

“You’re sure you’re okay with the box?” Xander asked for the hundredth time.

“I’m totally fine with being a broken hearts delivery service,” Buffy said with a reassuring smile.

Almost from the moment she’d opened the door, Xander had released a flood of pent up feelings and fears about Anya, along with a box of her things that was taunting him at his apartment. A box she’d agreed to deliver to his heart-broken demon ex.

“I miss her, you know,” he confessed. “I’m not sure there’s enough distance for me to crawl that would convince her I’m sorry. God, am I sorry.”

As Xander’s nerves calmed, they walked a couple blocks in the comfortable quiet of good friends, but Buffy’s sense of unease had been growing since leaving the house. She felt watched. Followed.

“Alright! Show yourself,” she said, planting her feet and looking around.

From behind a tree, Spike appeared, clean and calm, in a bright blue shirt that hugged every muscle and with a small smile on his lips. “‘Ello, Buffy.”

“You have some nerve,” said Xander, pushing up his sleeves and heading for the vampire before Buffy stopped him.

Spike looked at his shoes, then glanced at her quickly as if she were too great to behold. He’d memorized the movements of someone who knew how to be nervous.

“I know I’ve no right to be ‘ere, which is why I didn’t want to pop out of nowhere, but I wanted to apologize for the other day.” The moves of someone who knew how to be sorry.

“Other day?” asked Xander.

Half wishing it had been a nightmare, Buffy hadn’t told a soul she’d seen Spike. She wished her friend wasn’t seeing him now. If Spike was real, she’d have to deal with him.

“I wasn’t myself, an –”

A scream rang out behind them. A young woman ran toward them with a rope in her hand. “Run! Run!”

Buffy was more about the fight than the flee, but having no idea what was coming, she ran with the rest of them up the steps of a nearby apartment building where they tumbled through the entrance.

Xander scrambled to the woman’s side. She was in her mid twenties with dark, sad eyes. The rope in her hand was a leash with a bloody end.

“Hi, I’m Xander, your evening’s partner in peril. What are we running from?”

“Wha–? Um, Nancy.” She dissolved into tears as she held up the leash. “I was taking Mr. Kibbles out for a walk and, and–”

“Something nibbled Kibbles?”

The ground beneath them rumbled. As they raced for the stairs, a giant worm with lamprey teeth burst from the ground. Buffy yanked a fire extinguisher from the wall and sprayed the foam in the creature’s mouth. It hissed before crawling back into its hole and slithering away.

“Great, we have Tremors,” Xander complained as Spike inspected the hole. “Now I’m two degrees from Kevin Bacon.”

“This is worse than before,” Nancy cried.

“Before?”

“Randy, my jealous ex, was stalking me. I sort of wished he was a worm, but I didn’t mean a big worm. He was a creep before, but he didn’t eat my dog!”

_Wish_. Buffy’s stomach sank. “Nancy, I’m going to need you to tell me everything about this wish.”

 

* * *

Sam laid on the ground listening for stirring in the fresh grave. “Nothing yet,” he said, sitting back on his haunches. 

“If the school librarian is late for her own raising, does she get a fine or a tardy?” Dean grinned at his little brother’s annoyed groan.

Dean tapped his stake against his leg, eager to move on with his night. Clean up the monsters; get back to his girl. “Hey, does Sunnydale feel a little more poofy than when we got here?”

“Maybe. We had nights with three when Buffy was first showing us the ropes.” 

“Yeah, but most nights was lots of patrolling. Now there’s two or three a night every night plus other freaky-deakies. Are people just lining up to be poofy snacks or is the Hellmouth rumblin’?”

“That’s a question for your girlfriend,” Sam said with a smirk. “How many times do I have to call her your girlfriend before you deny it, admit it, or deck me?”

Dean looked up at the stars. “Don’t matter what she is. Everything’s changing soon anyway.”

“Have you talked with her at all?”

“We talk all the time. It’s not _just_ sex.”

“I mean about our plan.”

“Nah, man, that’s a big long conversation. She’s been kinda distracted this week. Lots a stuff going on – Oh, hey! We got a ripe one!” Dean shouted pointing at the fingers worming their way from the ground.

Before the brothers could crouch by the grave, a rotund vampire in a bright green and pink floral dress stood before them.

“Hey, wasn’t she on _The Drew Carey Show_?” Dean snorted, smacking Sam on the arm. 

Small pursed lips and a scrunched nose made her resemble a sour cabbage. “Rude little punk, I’m eating you first!” she spat as her face morphed into her vampire state.

Sam stepped between them, “Excuse me, but did you used to be Miss Elma Gutterson? Your obituary said you were Sunnydale High’s librarian?”    

“What’s it to you, boy?” 

“Still working or retired? The obit was a little fuzzy.”

“Working. They’re going to have a hell of a time replacing me. Sane people don’t want to work in this town.” She pointed at her fangs. “But one look at those kids and I thought, ‘I’d have a lot more fun if I could kill them.’”

She lunged, and Sam plunged a stake into her flower-covered heart.

“I think she was probably a nightmare before becoming a poofy.” 

Wiping the dust from his sleeve, Sam said, “So, I was thinking we could head over to The Bronze–”

Dean shook his head emphatically. “No. Nope. Never.”

“We don’t have to go in The Bronze, Dean, but you have to admit, with all the deaths lately, it wouldn’t be weird to find a vamp feeding near there on a Friday night.”

“Or the city morgue. Dead bodies end up somewhere before changing.”

“Split up?”

“Nah, we can settle this like adults.”

Dean raised his fist. Sam followed suit.

“One, two, three.”

Dean threw scissors. “ _Damnit_!”

As always, Sam had pounded his fist into his hand. “You are the worst Rock, Paper, Scissors player in the history of the game.”

They exited the cemetery and turned toward downtown. Sam nudged his brother with his elbow. “The way you’ve been talking in your sleep, I thought you and Buffy already made big plans for the future.”

Dean tried to tamp his panic down. He knew he cried out when he had nightmares, but had he been talking about his new dreams?

“Oh, dude, you’re white as a sheet! I was just trying to get a rise out of you.”

“I hate you.”

“Bullshit.” Sam grinned from ear to ear, clearly enjoying his brother’s discomfort. “Now I have to ask, what the hell are you dreaming about?”

“Nothin’.” Dean avoided eye contact. They were just dreams. Out of his control. “This town just makes me feel weird is all.”

“Weird? Dean, you’ve started singing in the shower again. Most people call it relaxed. Happy.”

“Relaxed? Last weekend, we hunted a fucking rain-controlling snake creature that plucked out people’s eyes. Miss Personality back there was our third poofy tonight. How is that relaxing?

“Why the hell are you so into this, anyway?” Dean continued. They had an unspoken rule that their relationships weren’t up for sharing. Of course, that usually only meant one night stands. “It’s called privacy, Sammy. Respect it.”

Sam shrugged his shoulders. “I investigate the strange and often unexplainable. You extending your interest in a woman beyond one night qualifies.” 

“Do you plan on shutting up soon?”

“You deserve someone, Dean. For the longest time, I’d always hoped that when the Apocalypse was over, you and Jo would work things out–” 

“Well Jo’s dead. The Apocalypse ain’t over, and according to Sunnydale lore, the Hellmouth seems to spawn one a year.” 

“There’s nothing wrong with staying in one spot with one person. I know family is the most important thing for you, and you should be able to have one,” Sam said.

Dean threw this hands up in protest. “Whoa! Whoa! Slow-down there, matchmaker! Ain’t nobody havin’ a family.”

“So ‘Daddy needs tickle time’ is just a kink?”

Dean narrowed his eyes and growled, “Fuck yes, you liar.”

In the short amount of time they’d been walking, they’d left the graveyard, passed a residential area, cut through another graveyard, and were now walking through downtown. The main drag, featuring a coffee shop, a few stores, and the burned husk of what used to be Anya’s magic shop, wasn’t very long. Still, the street was bustling with people more interested in getting a late-night latte then staying safe inside.

“Why do people live here?” Sam pondered out loud.

“I thought you liked it here?” Dean bitterly countered.

“I do. It’s…cute.”

Dean looked at Sam like he’d just confessed a love for interior design.

“It is! But I’m also a hunter, so monsters coming to me instead of me chasing monsters sounds like a deal. But why are these people out? They know something’s wrong here. Why not move?”

“Sammy, if you deny yourself froofy, chick coffee, you’ve let the monsters win.”

 

* * *

Spike could hear Buffy grinding her teeth as they rushed toward The Bronze to find Anya. Granted, the last time he’d shown up unannounced, he was bent and twisted – soulless. He’d done things he regretted. Actions of a monster, not a man.

He held out hope, a new experience. He hoped it was only the memory of that horrible night that kept her from making eye contact, that made her twitch the moment he drew too near. He hoped the fact that she trusted him enough to not kill him on sight and had invited him along to deal with the Sluggoth demon meant he could redeem himself. Meant he could be the man she deserved.

But there was already a man. Spike could smell engine grease, leather, and whiskey wafting from her. And sex. She reeked of sex.

His blood-thirsty demon parasite craved her; the spiking hormones would be like a delicious marinade. He was fighting the thought of her flavor when they rounded the corner and bumped into two men he’d never seen. A tall one with shaggy hair and –

“Hey, Girly!” said the one who smelled like engine grease, leather and whiskey as he laced his fingers with hers.

Buffy’s worried eyes shifted from the handsome stranger with his beaming grin to Spike whose mood transformed from helpful and contrite to smug and seething.

Nancy stuck close to Xander. She pointed at the man and Buffy, “So is he her–”

“Xander, get Nancy to The Bronze,” Buffy snapped.

As the boy dutifully shuffled their damsel away, a wicked grin spread across Spike’s lips.

“Buffy, are you okay?” the tall one asked. Both of their faces grew dark as they regarded Spike. “Do you need a hand?”

“No! No! Everything’s fine,” she insisted as she pulled away from her new boy toy. “We have to go catch up to Xander and Nancy. See you tomorrow!” She started to leave, but Spike didn’t budge.

Sizing up the competition who’d been holding his ex’s hand, the man he’d watched her fuck, Spike asked, “Aren’t you going to introduce me to your friends, Buffy?”

To their credit, both the man and his giant companion stared back at him, their eyes cold, jaws tight. They knew a threat when they saw one.

“I’m Dean,” the in-over-his-head boyfriend declared. “This is my brother Sam.” The words spat out like bullets.

Spike leaned back and licked his lips. _Man has some spunk._ But who was Dean to lay claim on Buffy? He’d fought Hell for her. Put his undead-life on the line for her. Wrestled his own personal demon every day to be a better man for her. And what was Dean? A magazine model with just enough brain cells to rub together. “Name’s Spike.”

“Spike? Why didn’t you just go with Rover or Fido?” Dean asked.

“Ooh! ‘E’s a cocky bugger, idn’t he? That why you like ‘im, Blondie? Or is it less about the words?” he said, hand on his crotch.

Buffy jumped between them. “Listen! I was supposed to be dancing my ass off by now. Instead, it’s a typical Friday night in Sunnydale. Spike is helping with a demon. You two are on patrol because I don’t have time for vamps tonight. Those are everyone’s options if they don’t want to further ruin my night. Got it?”

“Got it,” said the brothers in unison.

As they left together, Buffy shouted to the boys, “If you see a giant worm, don’t kill it.”

 

* * *

“You have to undo it!” Xander shouted over the screeching coming from the stage.

Anya, dressed for a night out but sitting alone in a dim corner, didn’t even look up from her blue martini. “I don’t go to your work and tell you how to construct things.”

“I was being figurative!” Nancy insisted.

“You wish it; I dish it, lady. Terms and conditions are entirely my call.”

Xander pleaded, “An, you’re better than this. You can’t–”

“Better? How would you –” She stopped short. Her eyes fixed on Spike, and she grabbed his arm firmly. “There’s something you don’t see everyday.”

Of course, a demon could see. Panic washed over him as she squeezed his arm.

“How did you do it?” she shouted.

People beyond their group started to stare. Buffy was looking at him for the first time, and Spike desperately wanted her to look away.

“How did you get your–”

_Hide it! She can’t know!_

He threw Anya across the room, sending the crowd rushing for the exit.

Buffy tried to restrain him, but he tossed her too. She cracked against a beam and slunk to the ground. “God, what’s your problem?” she shouted, a small bit of blood dripping from her nose.

“My problem is that you’re all so boring.” He licked his fangs, suddenly aware of his gnawing hunger. “Help the lady an’ ‘er little dead dog. ‘Ell of a way to spend a Friday night. Thought I’d spice things up a bit.”

He grabbed Buffy by her shirt and tossed her onto the pool table. He pressed his weight between her thighs, reveling in her pounding heart and terror-struck eyes.

“I thought, ‘What if I come at her all sad-sack and puppy-like?’ You know, like Angel. And my God, you fell for it didn’t you? Thought I was sorry? Thought I didn’t want to still tear into you?”

She kicked him off and grabbed a cue. “If you don’t want to help, then don’t, but I’m done playing with you. I’m done trying to fix you, to help you. I’m. Done. Come near me again, and I’ll stake you. Got it?”

Cowering under a table with Xander and Anya, Nancy whimpered, “I thought he was helping us?”

“I’m no one’s puppet!” he shouted, sending the frightened woman scrambling for the stage.

The ground began to rumble, and the Sluggoth demon burst through the floor – its toothy mouth squeezing and roaring – right where Nancy had been. Spike picked up a cue and threw it at the demon, who at that moment, was morphing back into Nancy’s ex-boyfriend, who howled as the cue pierced his shoulder.

“Ooh, bad timing!” said Anya.

Xander offered her a small smile. “There’s always time to do the right thing. Thank you.”

Spike collapsed, a searing pain exploding behind his eyes. Beating his chest with his fists, he howled, “It. Is. Here! It is watching.”

He ran from the club. _Failure_. He dashed down an alley, knocking over trash cans in his haste. _No one wants you_. He pressed his body against a cold stone wall. _Monster_. He sunk to the ground hot tears running down his cheeks.

Someone was following him, no doubt Buffy to finish him off. He yanked open a door and sneaked inside the stone building. He was in the back of a dark, empty church by the altar. Curious and trembling, he took to the stairs and hesitantly laid his hands on the pulpit where someone had left sermon notes: “On the Cleansing of Sin and the Rebirth of Saints.”

He looked up at the sound of a creaking hinge to see Buffy, stake in hand, entering through great wooden doors.

“I can’t pay enough penance.” His voice rang against the stone walls. “No relic can bring me absolution.”

Buffy crossed her arms and cocked her head to the side. “Tammy Faye, I’m way too tired for your sermons. Tell me, what’s watching?”

Repulsed at its touch, he ripped off his bright shirt and threw it at her. “Uniform didn’t work. New look. New man. Same devil inside.”

“What’s watching?”

“I ‘urt you.”

“Yes, you did.”

Spike’s voice dropped to a growl. “I ‘ated you.”

Scowling and tense, she walked down the aisle. “Really? Because when you were trying to rape me, you kept saying you’d show me how much you loved me. Which is it?”

“I dreamed of killing you.”

“Now’s your chance.” She squared her stance, stake ready.

“You don’t deserve death,” he confessed, falling to his knees. “Not a dead thing.”

He wondered at the silence in his chest, the coldness of his blood. Stretching out a hand to her still and wide-eyed at the foot of the steps, he felt that if only he could touch her, the pain in his chest would heal. 

“So beautiful. The light. Needed my own. My spark.”

“I’m not your spark, Spike. I’m not yours!”

“Got my own,” he hissed, scratching at his chest until his scabs broke, “and it burns like Hell.”

Jumping back on the stage, he struck out like a bolt of lighting at the pulpit, smashing it to bits, throwing scraps of wood around the room while screaming. Screaming, “You’re always there. When I sleep. When I wake. Taunting me like the joke I am.”

Spike curled his fist around a large shard of pulpit. “I just wanted to give you what you deserved. A man. But I’m nothing more than lights in a tomb.”

He raised the stake above his head, but Buffy kicked it away. Tears welled in her eyes, her breath jagged.

“Let me be, woman. Let this soul rot in me.”

 

* * *

Strands of loose hair stuck to her sweaty cheeks. Buffy pressed her face to the bathroom floor, the cool tile steadying her. She’d spent much of the night in the bathroom vomiting and crying, but at least she’d stopped shaking. Her head spun both from the lack of food and the shock of what she’d learned.

Spike had a soul.

Spike had spent months in torment so he could give her “what she deserved.” Not a monster. Not an obsessed thing that confused rape with devotion. He wanted to be a man. For her. 

It’s what she deserved. 

He had a soul, but he still had a demon. So he wasn’t a man or a monster. He’d hit her in The Bronze, made light of his attempted rape, laughed at the sting of his words. He still dreamed of killing her. Was cruelty the rusty soul or the demon? Did having a soul mean he could be just as brutal as before but with bonus guilt?

Angel was cursed with a soul. It buried him under the weight of each person he’d destroyed. After nearly a century of wrestling with his curse, he was still seeking redemption. Buffy wanted redemption for both Angel and Spike. She needed to believe that evil wasn’t an inevitability of bad choices, that the muck of this world could be washed away. Her entire existence as the Slayer was marked by lines in the sand – the darkness can go no further – but she never gained ground. Two vampires with souls trying to make good was taking territory back from the dark.

But trying to be with either one of them was like keeping a bear as a pet; he’d adore you and snuggle you until one day he ate your heart. She hadn’t asked Spike to be in constant torture for her. Now he was clawing at his chest, trying to stake himself, the pain of the century of blood he’d shed pulling him to Hell. 

There was a soft knock on the bathroom door. “Just a minute!” she barked, splashing water on her face and wiping off streaky mascara before opening the door. 

It was Dean, his green eyes wide with concern. “Honey, are you okay? You look terrible.” 

“Dean! What are you doing here?”

“You told me to come by today.” 

“But it’s, like, _morning_ still.”

“Yeah, and you’re wearin’ the same thing you were wearing last night.” He put one hand on the back of her neck and felt her forehead with the other. “Doesn’t feel like a fever. Hangover?”

“No, no!” she said pulling away from him. “I just don’t feel very tippy top today. I certainly don’t feel up to sex.” 

“I didn’t come here for– First things first,” he said, taking her hand and leading her to her bedroom. “You haven’t slept. You’re so dehydrated, you’ve gone pale,” he’d stated. “I don’t know what’s wrong, but I’m gonna run to the pharmacy to get you…anything. You, get in bed.” 

Too tired to argue with his bossiness, Buffy changed into a pair of shorts and a tank top and collapsed on the bed. When Dean returned from the store with some Gatorade and soup, she was already passed out.

He left a note on her nightstand. _Downstairs fixing the mower with Dawn. One of the Summers girls will know how an engine works! Stay strong and get better, Girly. – Yours, Dean_.    

 

* * *

Alone in the cemetery, Dean left a small trail of wet kisses on her neck as he slowly rocked his hips against hers. Buffy wrapped her legs further up his torso, the change in angle forcing out a gasp.

“Are you okay?” he asked. “I’m not hurting you, am I?”

She ran her fingers through his hair. “You could never hurt me. Besides, there aren’t parts of me left to hurt.”

He traced her collarbone with his tongue and quickened the pace.     

Buffy leaned back off the tombstone, gasping, moaning. She started to feel herself tipping off the edge; Dean’s arms supported her.

“This is what you replaced me with? ‘E doesn’t know how rough you like it,” groused Spike, leaning against a mausoleum and flipping the top of his lighter open and closed.

Buffy squeezed Dean tighter between her thighs. “I haven’t liked everything I’ve done, Spike. I certainly haven’t liked everything that’s been done to me.”

“If ‘e doesn’t know how to sting you, make you bleed, does ‘e know how to make you squeal?”

A small yellow car with a key in the back pulled up. Xander tumbled out wearing big shoes and a green wig. “I’m here to fill my role!”

“Let’s go somewhere less crowded,” Dean panted in her ear.

They laid down in a field and watched the clouds.

“That one’s a car,” she said.

“My Baby?” he asked.

He looked like such a boy with his freckles popping in the sunlight. Could she preserve the soft eyes and open grin?

“No,” she said. She sat up and poked at his chest. “Where’s your heart, Dean?” In the distance, she should hear the clink and scrape of sharpening knives.

“It’s not here.”

“It’s my job to find hearts.”

“It burned.”

A red stain bloomed over his chest where a needle-like blade burst forth. And another and another. A demon like a millipede made of knives carried Dean away.

Buffy sat in the rain and stroked the black box in her lap.

“‘E’s gone now,” said Spike.    

“He might come back. He’s done it before.” Her voice was nearly a whisper.

“Ain’t ‘appenin’, love. I’m the only man foolish enough to want to be used by you. You can use me up ‘till I’m bones and dust. Got my spark back.” His fingers sputtered like a lighter.

“Where will you be in the harsh light of day?”

“I got soul-grade spf.” He flashed a fanged smile.

“That won’t protect you from the monster.”

“My love will. I love you so much, Buffy.”

“You don’t.”

His face turned dark, and he punched her in the jaw cracking bone. “Don’t tell me what I feel, love! You push a man and push a man, an’ one day ‘e pushes back.”

She couldn’t move her arms. Her entire body ragdoll limp. He beat her chest. Kicked her stomach. Broke her nose and ribs. Each blow was a flame sparking on her gasoline skin. The flames licked up Spike’s arms.

“Look what you’ve done now,” he said, crumbling to ash.

 

* * *

The final bell rang and the school office started swirling with activity. Parents coming to pick up their children. Students wanting to change their schedules. Coaches dashing in for keys before running off to a game.

Buffy organized the pencils on her desk again. She couldn’t decide if they should be arranged by length or color. Pencil decor had been the most exciting part of her training-and-procedures packed day. Abandoning them to chaos, she watched the door hoping her first student would seek her out before heading home. 

A tall man with shaggy hair and strong, broad shoulders came in and spoke with the secretary. Judging by his suit, Buffy wondered if he was with the district or Department of Education, but he was far too young. _Nice ass._ The secretary disappeared into the principal’s office. The man looked around the room and upon spotting Buffy, waved.

“Oh my God!” she gasped, launching herself from her desk. “Sam, what are you doing here? Is this more fake FBI stuff?”

“Fake school librarian stuff,” he said in a low voice. “I dusted the old librarian last week; now I’m interviewing for her job.”

“Interviewing? Why?”

“The construction crew isn’t going to be here forever. I thought it would be better to stick close to the Hellmouth, you know, in case Dawn has another ghosts-in-the-basement day. Besides, I’d rather spend all day with books than with power tools.” 

“Yeah, I get you’re a nerd, but you’re a nerd who’s leaving soon.”

Sam looked confused. “Dean didn’t tell you? He was with you all Saturday and he didn’t tell you?”

“I was kind of out of it Saturday. Tell me what?”

“No, no, no. I’m not having this conversation for him!”

“Mr. Winchester, Principal Wood is ready for you now,” the secretary said.

“He should be back at the motel if you want to ask him yourself,” Sam said as he walked to the office.

 

* * *

Dean was surprised to find Buffy on the other side of the peephole; he got the distinct impression she found the Motor Inn gross. As soon as he opened the door, she slipped into the room and started pacing. Glancing at her puff-sleeve blouse, pinstripe mini skirt, and heels, Dean almost cracked a sexy lawyer joke, before catching her hand-wringing worry.

“Something eating you, Girly?”

“I saw Sam at the school. He was interviewing for a job and said I needed to talk with you. I was thinking about it the whole way over here when it hit me,” She turned her doe-eyes up to him. “You’re staying.”

He smiled cautiously. “Yeah, I wanted to tell you this weekend, but you were sick.”

Buffy sat the on edge of the bed and stared at the stained brown carpet. Dean sat on the other bed waiting for a smile, a kiss, a rage. Anything.

Her voice was small when she finally spoke. “I’d hoped you would stay, but I didn’t think you would. I didn’t even let myself consider what things would be like if…” 

“You don’t seem too thrilled.” He’d let himself hope she’d be excited.

A smile blossomed on her lips, as she slid into his lap. “I _am_ , but I’m so confused. This was supposed to be simple, you and me. No real connections. Just a few weeks of great sex and then we’d go our separate ways. We kinda sucked at it though. Well, not the sex. We’re _great_ at the sex.”

He chuckled as he ran his fingers over her legs. They were definitely good at sex, but the relationship hadn’t stayed so simple, not since the night they spent discussing their deaths. The night she’d asked him to stay. That was when he’d let himself believe he could taste a semi-apple pie life, that he could mean something to someone. 

She stroked his jaw, her thumb caressing his lips. “I’ve done a terrible job of not caring about you.” 

“Me too,” he said before kissing her palm and slipping his fingers up her skirt.

But she withdrew and began to pace the room. Her face, soft with lust and happiness, switched to in-charge mode. “I am twenty-one-years-old, and my life is total chaos. You’ve been here during a relatively quiet period, and it’s still ghosts in the basement and demons in the woods. Something’s coming, Dean. I don’t know what, but the Hellmouth is going to send up something ugly. I have to be the Slayer, to ‘stand against the forces of darkness.’ That doesn’t really leave time for a serious relationship does it?”

The irony was so thick, Dean snickered. “I was heading the other way, Buffy. Keeping my distance, and you didn’t like that one bit. Now you’ve pulled me down this path and what? You’re gonna leave me behind at the first curve in the road?”

Resuming her place beside him, she laced her fingers with his. “No, I wouldn’t leave you behind. I couldn’t. But this is my life. I won’t always have time for you, and I’m going to be in dangerous situations you aren’t going to like or be able to stop. We don’t get a happily-ever-after, Dean.” She laid her head on his shoulder. “That doesn’t mean we can’t try to be happy on the way.”

“So, you wanna do this?” He wasn’t even sure what to call it. _Dating_ and _girlfriend_ felt like cheap, childish words for the connection growing between them. 

She pressed her lips to his stubbled cheek. “I’m not great at knowing what I want,” she confessed, resting her hand on his belt, “but I don’t think we have time to figure it out before jumping in, do we?”

“Absolutely not,” he said, his fingers flying over the buttons on her blouse.

She wiggled out of her skirt before pushing him back on the bed. Straddling him, she pushed his t-shirt over his abs and thumbed one of his nipples.

“Then I want you, Dean Winchester, to kiss me today and tomorrow and every day until you can’t. Sound like a good place to start?”

His rough hands caressed the smooth skin of her back. He pulled her into him, breathing in her sweet, soft scent. Their lips brushed, and he flicked out his tongue to taste her. As he kissed her, he could feel the tension in her body melting away. When they moved from kissing to sex, their bodies thrusting in perfect rhythm until they were panting each other’s names, he couldn’t help but think, _This is what it feels like to have a future_.


End file.
